


i couldn't utter my love when it counted

by missveils (Missveils)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Inquisitor Hawke (Dragon Age), M/M, Old Friends, Slow Burn, Snippets, Yearning, hozier lyrics title like a basic bitch, stanzas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils
Summary: If he were to write a list of everything he blamed himself for, it would span the length of at least three copies of the Tale of the Champion. Maybe he should have written that instead of his book. It would have been a nice exercise in introspection.And it would have prevented the Tale from falling in the hands of Seeker Pentaghast.The Tale of Inquisitor Hawke from the eyes of his oldest friend, how it started and how it ended.
Relationships: Hawke/Varric Tethras, Male Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8
Collections: Hightown Funk 2020





	i couldn't utter my love when it counted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calysto1395](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calysto1395/gifts).



**-the beginning-**

i. It was always his fault, wasn’t it? 

If he were to write a list of everything he blamed himself for, it would span the length of at least three copies of the Tale of the Champion. Maybe he should have written that instead of his book. It would have been a nice exercise in introspection. 

And it would have prevented the Tale from falling in the hands of Seeker Pentaghast. 

“You can leave now.”

Funny how those were the words he was fearing to hear. The cell door was left open, cold light pooling in. 

“Is he here?” he asked as he stepped out, covering his eyes. 

He was met with uncomfortable gazes from the guards. Figures. He walked past them with swift steps, to where he remembered Cassandra’s office was, heavy metal footsteps following close behind him. 

The moment he swung the door open it slammed against the stone wall with a bang that made up for a missed heartbeat. Eyes he had not seen for more than a year met his. 

Hawke sat on the chair in front of Cassandra, wearily leaning against his staff. The dust covering his boots up to his knees let him know he had probably walked his way here. 

“Hey, Varric. Go ahead and get the horses ready, once I get them distracted I will meet you outside.” A wink towards the Seeker, who did not seem amused at the joke. 

He did not leave, of course. Neither did Hawke. They would weather the Conclave together. He knew Hawke would stand proud and take the blame for the mage rebellion. Hell, he would take the blame with pride. 

And he would, as always, stand back and wait for the moment he would have to put an arrow in a guard’s head. 

ii. He had expected talks, trials. 

Not a shock wave that threw him across the room, and a roar that had his ears ringing for hours. And of course, his first thought: 

_ Hawke. _

It was not long until someone confirmed his fears. That he had been at the Conclave. That he had been in the epicentre of the explosion. 

That Hawke was most likely dead. 

For the saddest and most unfair of reasons: Being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And once again, it was his fault he was here. If he had just let his story fall into darkness, into oblivion. If he had let the tale of the champion just be a mythos about fighting against adversity, no one would have known about him. Or found him. 

But maybe he saw something special in him, he thought that everyone should see the light around his friend. In his own selfless and selfish way.

Maybe it was his only way of expressing how he saw Hawke, not that he expected him to read it. 

Of course, he knew he had feelings for him. He had already had this conversation with himself several times, after passing touches, stolen kisses, nights together at the Hanged Man. “What would I do without you, Varric?” this, “Promise you will always stay by my side” that. 

But actually, expressing his feelings? Ruining their friendship? Giving Hawke yet another thing to worry about? When every day brought death, loss, and war? No, that was not his style. And there had never been a good moment. 

And now there would never be. 

iii. Hawke walked out of a hole in the sky, landing gracefully, dusting off his outfit, cracking a joke. And then had collapsed on the ground and proceeded to sleep for days. 

No one had said that first part exactly, and he had not been there to see it. But it seemed the most plausible. He had seen it happen before. 

Varric knew the hole in the sky wasn’t Hawke’s fault, he was not stupid. He had seen enough weird magic incidents in Kirkwall to know this was probably the work of one Tevinter magister or another. 

But he knew, even before seeing the Anchor, that it would fall upon his friend’s shoulders to heal the sky. 

And he also knew that he would stand by his side to shoulder even a fragment of that burden. 

**-the end-**

i. More than a burden it turned to be a slow-burning fire that over the three years grew from embers to flames burning through Hawke’s bones. 

He closed the rift in the sky. He defeated Corypheus… again. 

Not that Varric ever doubted he would, the damned man had a talent to make these things look easy. 

But every time he visited him in Kirkwall (or when his viscount duties let him go back to Skyhold), the green glowing tendrils under his skin crawled higher and higher. It was harder to notice until they were literally creeping up his jaw. 

“It’s fine, it only hurts sometimes. And it hasn’t killed me in all this time, what are the chances it will kill me now?”

Yet he stayed up later in the night, leaning his head on his shoulder, staring into the fire. Quieter than he had ever seen him. 

“Tell me another story,” he would mutter, for the third time that night. 

And he would listen from start to finish, without a single witty remark, without a complaint about the facts. Over and over until he fell asleep from exhaustion. 

Hawke never said, but Varric knew the alternative was to be kept awake by the painful pulses of the anchor. 

ii. “I am dissolving the Inquisition. What? You should’ve expected this.”

“Oh, I did, Hawke. But the Seeker is not going to like this.”

Hawke leaned against the marble railings, his gaze lost in the rolling hills of Halamshiral in the distance. His hair was long and fell over the left side of his face. 

“Well, she will have to deal with it. I know she can.”

“And what about you? What do you want to do after the madness is over?”

Hawke raised his left hand and clenched his fist a few times, flinching. 

“Probably find someone who can figure out how to deal with this.”

“Yes, but that’s surviving, Chuckles. What about in the long term? What do you really want to do?”

“You know, I don’t think anyone has asked me that question in, what, fifteen years?” He whistled. “I’m not sure if I know how to make decisions for myself anymore.”

“Well, if it helps… I’ve got a place for you in Kirkwall. Not your old estate.” He was fast to add when he saw a pained expression creep up his face. “A farm in the outskirts, similar to the one you lived in back in Lothering. Only a bit bigger and fancier of course.” 

Hawke laughed, and it just struck Varric how long it had been since he had heard a clear, genuine laugh from his friend. 

“So you see me growing into a lonely old man, taking care of his goats and harvesting his cabbages, then?”

“Vineyards, since you are asking. But it’s not like you’re adding anything to this brainstorming session, Chuckles. I’m working with what I’ve got.”

The laugh stopped as fast as it had started and Hawke clutched his left wrist, breathing heavily through his nose. Still, he managed to turn to Varric with a weary smile. 

“I will give it some thought, old friend.”

iii. The sheets had been changed a third time and the orlesian linen glared white in the sunlight pouring from the window. It was strange to think that just a few hours earlier the bed had been drenched in blood and the remains of Hawke’s left arm that could not be saved. 

And, all things considered, this was also his fault. 

“It’s not.” Hawke’s voice came in a weak whisper, but a faint smile appeared on his face. “You talk to yourself more often than you think, you know.”

“I’m getting old, Hawke. That’s what old people do.”

“Maybe we are both getting old.” 

He lifted his right hand and Varric held it in his. A tight grip that said “I’m here. I’m holding onto you.”

They stayed in silence for a while. Hawke’s closed eyes and steady breaths made him believe that he had fallen asleep. Still, after what seemed like hours, he spoke: 

“I think I know what I want to do, now that I’m no longer the Lord Inquisitor. In the long term, I mean.”

“Surprise me.”

Hawke chuckled and sat upon the bed, with the help of one of Varric’s hands on his back. He did not let go of the hand he was holding. 

“I want to go to the Hanged man with you. And I want to play Wicked Grace and drink the amount of alcohol that the money from the Inquisition coffers can buy.”

“You said in the long term. Unless you’re expecting to just spend the rest of your days drinking at the Hanged Man.”

“You always have something to say, don’t you?” He laughed, and the laugh was weak, but his voice had regained its energy and his cheeks were flushing as he spoke. “I want to get drunk, play cards, probably throw up. And then I want you to take me home.” He took a deep breath. “And I want to stay there. Forever. Wherever home might be. If you would have me.”

“Hawke…”

“I don’t think I need to tell you how I feel. We are past that. I just want you to know that I want to start living for myself. And I want it to be with you.”

And for once in many, many years he was left at a loss for words. Just his eyes fixated on the eyes he had known so well for more than a decade. Just Hawke’s hand leaving his and resting on the side of his face. Just their lips meeting and the smell of blood and Hawke’s hair warmed by the sun. 

And in that light, he knew most people would have seen the radiance of a hero, but at that moment it was the soft glow and warmth of the man he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like snippets anon!   
> Thanks so much for the super interesting prompt. This left me wanting to write a longfic about inquisitor Hawke and the frustrating slowburn between him and Varric. I so so so so wish I had the patience to do it!


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